


In Every Universe, I Belong to You

by Mad_Muse_Musings



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Daily Phlint, Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Not Every Tag Applies to Every Chapter, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-07 12:09:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7714420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Muse_Musings/pseuds/Mad_Muse_Musings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of Daily Phlint posts from Tumblr.</p><p>Each story will stand alone unless otherwise specified, and ratings will vary. Any warnings will be in chapter summaries, and ratings will be in chapter titles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Some People Adopt Dogs... (G+)

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to come scream at me on [Tumblr](http://www.rayleighn.tumblr.com) and if you have a prompt you would like to see, I won't make any promises but feel free to drop it in my ask.

Some people adopt dogs. 

In like a compulsive way.

Other people adopt cats.

In like a compulsive way.

Clint Barton doesn’t do either of these things.

Phil and Clint had been dating for just about six months when Phil dropped by his house unannounced.

“Clint! I bought take out, from that little Thai place you like so much!” Phil yells from the front door that had been unlocked.

Phil was completely unprepared for a small girl to come around the corner from the kitchen, all of the sass of Clint in pint size with dark brown braids swinging around her head as she came to stop.

“Who are you?” She asked, hands going to her hips, brokering no argument to be had about answering.

Phil swallowed. “Clint!” He yelled again.

“Nope. Papa is out back with Emma, Joe, and Mina.” The girl said, shaking her head. “He won’t hear you, and I ain’t letting you through till you tell me who you are.”

“Okay,” Phil said, shifting from foot to foot in the front hallway. “I’m Phil Coulson.”

“Does papa know you’re here?” She asked.

“No, I wanted to surprise him,” Phil answered. “What’s your name?”

“People don’t surprise papa, he doesn’t like surprises,” She answered, completely avoiding his question about her name.

“Can you ask him to come get the food from me at least?” Phil asked, figuring that he wasn’t going to win against the sassy little girl in front of him.

“I guess.” She said, pulling the end of the word out as long as possible before turning around and going through the back door and out into the backyard. Phil heard the back screen door close noisily before he let out a large breath.

Obviously, he didn’t know everything about Clint but he never imagined he would find a herd of children in his boyfriend’s house. He almost jumped when the screen door in the back closed again and when Clint appeared in front of him.

“Sorry about Nina,” Clint said, rubbing the back of his head, the anxious habit Phil noticed years ago.

“It’s okay. She’s protective.” Phil said before thrusting his hands out with the bags of food. “I bought Thai.”

“Nina said. Phil… God this is fucked.” Clint said with a sigh. “I was going to tell you I have a heard of foster kids that I take care of part time. I swear.”

“Okay,” Phil said with a nod. “Okay, so we’re having the conversation now. You have a slew of foster kids. I’ve been here a few times, how have I not seen a bunch of kids stuff?”

“Yeah…” Clint said, trailing off and rubbing the back of his head again. “I kind of kept you in the downstairs, away from their rooms and stuff.”

“Okay,” Phil said, nodding again. “So you have four foster kids here tonight, are there more of them?”

“Not right now, two just got adopted. It’s why I took myself off the duty roster a couple weeks ago. I wanted to be here for them at the adoption hearing. Good people got them.” Clint said with a smile.

“So, can I come in and have dinner with you and your family tonight? Maybe watch a movie?” Phil asked, moving his hands again so that the bags of food ruffled. 

“You’re not freaked out?” Clint asked before he turned around at the sound of the back screen door closing again.

“Papa, Joe is upset,” Nina said from the kitchen.

“Not freaked out, Clint. Let me meet your kids,” Phil said as he watched Clint be torn over looking after his kids and wanting to make everything okay with Phil.

“Okay,” Clint said with something akin to relief. 

That night, laying on the couch with two-year-old Mina on his chest while Clint sat on the floor with the other three kids around him, head tilted back so Phil could run his fingers through his hair, was the moment Phil decided he was going to marry Clint Barton. 

Because some people adopt dogs.

And some people adopt cats.

But Phil wanted to adopt children with Clint.


	2. Learning To Use Big Boy Words (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for off screen, minor character death.

Clint thought for sure out of the two of them he would be the one that was emotionally screwed.

They made it three months into the adventure that was dating before Clint realized he was without a doubt the more emotionally mature of the two of them. Now that wasn’t to say that Clint felt like he had this all figured out, he just vomited how he was feeling about their relationship whenever he felt like it was needed, which was surprisingly useful. 

Phil Coulson on the other hand, he did this thing where he retreated into his shell like a threatened turtle and all but completely stopped communicating with Clint.

And this time, Clint wasn’t even sure what went wrong that caused the retreat in Phil. All he knows for sure is that he left on a mission with Natasha a week ago, and when he came back Phil greeted him on the Helicarrier but didn’t ask for him to come back to his quarters for their normal round of ‘I’m so glad you’re alive’ cuddles. Okay, to be fair it’s not always just cuddles, but most the time they just want to hold onto each other tight and reassure themselves that the other is there and alive. But this time, Clint got a tight smile and a brief hug before the other man retreated back into the main offices and leaving Clint and Natasha to stare at each other in confusion.

“We didn’t blow anything up or get hurt,” Natasha said, confusion was clear in her voice as she picked up her jump back from the floor, her own post-mission hug completely forgotten about from Phil.

“I know,” Clint huffed. “Normally he’d be ecstatic.”

When Clint tracked Phil down almost three hours later, because debriefing and mandatory medical checks eat up way more time than anyone ever wants to admit, Phil briefly looked up as the office door opened but went right back to whatever he was typing up.

“Alright, Phil. I give, what did I do? Because I don’t know, and you’re being frostier than Russia in the middle of the god damn winter, and you hurt Nat’s feelings, not that she’s going to tell you. She was looking for her hug too and you just walked away.” Clint said as he dropped down onto the couch that was pretty much his even though it was in Phil’s office.

“What?!” Phil almost yelled in the office, his voice bouncing off the walls and making it sound so much more shocked than it did coming out of his mouth.

“Well you’re acting like me and Nat burned down a government building on the last mission, and we didn’t, so what the hell gives, man?” Clint asked.

“No. It’s… no,” Phil said shaking his head.

“Well then, what is it?”

Phil shook his head. “It’s fine, I’m sorry I’m distracted.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’d think the boy who grew up in a good home would be able to talk about his shit to his boyfriend.”

“Really Clint, it’s fine. I’m sorry I made you and Nat feel like I was mad. I’ll text her an apology.”

“Or, and here’s a radical idea Phil, you could use your big boy words and tell me what the hell is going on,” Clint said with a huff. “I can’t be the only one who is open in this. I need you to tell me what’s going on so I can help make things better for you.”

Phil hummed before finally turning his attention completely to Clint. “My mom died this week. So I’m a little closed off right now.”

Clint was up and closing the distance between the two of them before Phil finished.

“And now that you used your big boy words, I can hold you while you cry on my shoulder. And I can hold you and take care of you, like a good boyfriend. Just, christ Phil, use your big boy words,“ Clint said with a shake of his head.

"I’m bad at using my big boy words. I just bottle everything up,” Phil explained, leaning forward to snuggle into Clint’s stomach. 

“Well, you’re going to learn to use your big boy words. You can’t be more dysfunctional than me. I won’t allow it,” Clint said with a huff and ran his fingers through Phil’s thinning hair.


	3. He Who Controls the Remote (G+)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Warnings come to mind for this fluffy bit.

There are some things that even Clint and Phil aren’t immune to when they are happily relaxing at home. 

When they had time to just be at home, they became, in their daughter’s words, ‘sickeningly domestic’. Clint would sneak up behind Phil and wrap his arms around Phil’s waist while Phil was cooking. Phil would pull Clint’s legs into his lap and massage the hell of out Clint’s legs and feet while they watched TV.

This also meant they had epic fights for the remote. And it only got worse when the Olympics were on.

Every two years, Daisy prepared herself for the ridiculousness that would go down because Clint wanted to watch the Olympics and Phil wanted to watch literally anything else. 

When Daisy came home from a summer class she was taking, she really wasn’t as surprised as she probably should have been to see Clint holding the remote hostage in the living room, standing on the couch while Phil threatened him with… a lightsaber.

“Come on, Clint, please. I can’t watch any more sports!” Phil was pleading.

“Record whatever else you want, I’m using all my TV time for the next month for the Olympics,” Clint said, and then proceeded to do something Daisy never wanted to see.

Daisy watched from the entryway in shock as her dad pulled the front of his pants away from his body and proceeded to drop the remote down his pants.

“Oh, for fracks sake!” Daisy yelled. “I’m never touching that remote again.”

Phil just smirked. “I suggest you go to your room, Daisy. I have no qualms about stripping you out of those jeans and doing awful things to you, Clint, to ensure I don’t have to watch any more sports.”

“Oh god!” Daisy screamed, before fleeing, her bedroom door slamming right as a thump was accompanied by an ofph came from the living room.


	4. Those Hot Summer Nights (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Warnings
> 
> Getting together in the heat of a summer night!

When Fury decided to move all the agents out of SHIELD headquarters for housing, accounting told him it was the stupidest move they had ever seen, but if he was so damned determined to do it, then he was going to do it economically. By doing it economically they meant he would buy entire floors of buildings at a bulk price from the landlord. 

Which is how Clint Barton and Phil Coulson ended up bedroom window neighbors. They lived on the fourth floor of two different buildings, but their bedroom windows looked right into each other if they didn’t have something in the way. 

Now, this fact had never been a problem for either of them, in fact, it was kind of convenient when they wanted to hang out, they could check if the other was busy with a glance through the bedroom window. But that was all about to change.

Like most places that don’t normally deal with Satanic levels of heat, New York was experiencing an epidemic of broken AC units, and their buildings were not immune to this. 

Phil was throwing open his bedroom window right at the same time Clint was, both of them shiny in the light of their bedrooms with sweat.

“This is god damn ridiculous. Fury is a cheap fucking bastard,” Clint complained across the short distance between them.

“It is hot.” Phil agreed, resting his forehead aginst the top glass of the window, relishing in it’s slightly cooler temperature. 

“Oh, come on, Phil. How are you still cool as a cucumber over there. This is bull.”

Phil was not staring at Clint as the younger man pulled off his shirt which left him in low hanging boxers. “I promise, I’m not any cooler over here. I’m just trying not to think about.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Well, I’m going to try to sleep. It’s feeling like a pantsless, sheetless kind of night.”

“More information than I needed, Barton,” Phil said with an eye roll, doing his best not to imagine Clint just laying on his bed, spread eagle with not a scrap of cloth covering him. That being said, Phil couldn’t deny that it was shaping up to be that kind of night, as he stripped out of his lounging clothes and all but face planted onto the bed. 

With a groan he rolled over and hit the light on the table, turning it off and casting the room into darkness, which seemed to magically reduce the temperature by a significant amount. With a glance out the window, Phil saw Clint’s light flick off as well, and decided that it was too hot that night for them to even do the light conversation they sometimes had to wind down. 

Phil wasn’t sure how long he just laid in the darkness, trying to will his body to sleep in the miserable heat. It kind of pissed him off, to be honest. He could sleep pretty much anywhere, in any condition if he was on a mission. The moment he was at home, the conditions had to be god damn perfect, and the moon had to be in perfect alignment for him to sleep. 

Then he heard it.

Or at least he thought he heard something. Turning over and glancing at his alarm clock, Phil realized he had been laying on the bed for just under thirty minutes, which meant what heard was probably Clint getting up to go pee and stubbing his toe.

Then he heard it again. It was quiet, but Phil could just make out a grunt and a thud over the sounds of the city quieting down around them. 

“Clint?” Phil called out, looking towards the window.

No answer.

Phil rolled off the bed and went to stand by the window, his own nudity completely forgotten about in place of worrying about Clint. Standing by the window, Phil could clearly hear the occasional thud of something hitting Clint’s bed along with a slight creak of his bed springs, and Clint making the smallest grunting sounds.

And then Phil put two and two together, and arrived at the answer of four and smirked at the window. “How the hell are you rubbing one out in this heat, with your window open for all to hear?”

“Fuck!” Clint yelled before there was a slightly louder thud as his feet hit the hardwood floor hard. “Don’t be a cock blocker, Phil.”

Phil couldn’t help but lick his lips when Clint got close enough to the window to be able to see him clearly. Oh god, what a sight was that, completely naked and shiny with sweat, and his cock made Phil want to worship it as a new deity.

“Seriously, how are you masturbating in this heat? I am genuinely curious.” Phil said with a shake of his head, trying to maintain the appearance of someone who didn’t really care about the naked man he could see.

“Well, you could always come over here and I could show you exactly how I get off in this heat,” Clint said, just a hint of his normally cocky attitude there, but most of it came off as a bit scared about what he just said.

“I could,” Phil answered, leaning forward so that he could rest his arms on the window sill and hide his own rapidly hardening cock, that was very on board with the idea. “But I don’t know if that was an actual offer. See because I only have sex with people who want relationships.”

Phil could just barely make out the rapid blinking Clint was doing at that bomb. “You want to… date me?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed to that no.”

“Well, okay then,” Clint said with a nod.

“Okay then, what?”

“Get your fine ass over here so I can see what kind of cock I’m working with. I’m going to ride you till we both scream.”

Phil had never pulled on a pair of boxers and bolted out the door so quick in his life.


	5. Two Bodies, One Soul (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Abuse - Nonexplicit, but inferred.
> 
> Soulmate AU

January 7, 1971

At the age of six, while playing on the swing set at recess, he lets go of everything and falls to the ground, screaming in absolute agony. When the doctors look at him later, they inform his parents that he suffered a soul-injury. With a broken collar bone, he is sent home with his parents, occasionally sniffling with the pain as his mother drags her fingers through his hair in the back seat of the car, trying to comfort him.

Phil doesn’t know it, but he felt the first pain of his soulmates life; the pain of being brought into the world.

* * *

 

November 28, 1974

Phil is ten and playing a pick-up game of basketball in the street when he screams and his arm goes limp.

Another visit to the hospital, another confirmation of a broken bone, this time, Phil’s arm.

And this time, Phil’s mother pulls his father aside and shares the fear that their little boy’s soulmate may die before they ever meet. It was the third broken bone they had to have set on him since the collarbone incident. His father agrees, and then they both agree not to say anything to Phil. If their fear comes to pass it will be an agony they don’t even want him to know exists.

* * *

 

July 9, 1978

Phil is fourteen when he is woken up out of a dead sleep. His hands fly to his face and come away wet and smelling strongly of copper. With a groan, he kicked away the blankets and hissed in pain from that. He pulled up his shirt and saw dark bruises blooming over his chest in the pale light of the moon from his window.

“Ma!” Phil yelled, at this point, he was just used to the appearing wounds.

“Again?!” His mother yelled from across the hall. “ER?”

“Probably. You may need to get dad to carry me.” Phil says as his door opens and he tries to move out of bed only to fall back into it.

His mother nodded and came over to check out the injuries. “Looks like a car crash this time.”

* * *

 

May 17, 1993

It’s rainy and the last thing that Phil wanted to be doing was chasing some cocky mercenary with spiked blonde hair through the back alleys of the city. He was twenty-eight and well on his way to climbing his way through SHIELD’s ranks like a god damn boss. But he was the one who insisted the bring in the guy who seemed to never miss a damn shot, which meant when he escaped three retrieval teams, Marcus looked at him, called him Cheese (a nickname he was not fond of mind you, but it came from all his soul-injuries, most days he looked like swiss cheese with all the holes that were bleeding at any given time), and told him to go capture his own damn asset.

So was it any wonder that when he finally cornered the marksman long enough to pull his gun and attempt to talk to the man, he tried to run up the wall, and Phil took the shot, going clean through the man’s thigh and making Phil scream bloody murder.

Both of them were laying on the stone, in a dark alley, getting soaked by rain and laughing hysterically at each other.

“Of fucking course, you’re my soulmate,” Phil said between laughs before he pressed the emergency extraction button.

 


	6. Potty Training is Not for the Weak (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Warnings come to mind

Phillip J. Coulson loved his son.

He swore to god and everything above that he really did love his son. But he was over this phase of parenthood.

Between Clint and Phil, they had decided who would take what major life event. Phil got potty training on the basis that he was the more patient of the two of them. Clint got things like the first day of school drop off (Phil admitted he wouldn’t be able to leave their son behind to fend for himself) and the sex talk (Phil still wasn’t sure how he felt about that one, it was probably going to end up being a team sport).

But even Phil’s mythical levels of patients were being tried by the mission of potty training their three and half-year-old.

Which is why when Clint came home that day, he was greeted by their son running around only in a t-shirt while Phil attempted to clean up the frankly epic amount of pee that their son had managed to get on the floor. 

“Phil?” Clint called as he wrapped an arm around their son and hoisted him up onto his hip.

“In the bathroom. Bring more Clorox spray please,” Phil answered.

“Did you make a mess?” Clint asked their son, a bit more amused than what was probably safe for him to be.

“A wittle one,” Alex responded.

“He’s a liar!” Phil yelled. “It is in no shape little.”

Clint shook his head and detoured into the kitchen to grab another Kitchen+Bath spray bottle of Clorox and hooking the trigger into his pocket before making his way deeper into the house to give it to Phil.

When Clint saw his husband on the floor with nothing but a pair of cargo shorts on, shirt having long since been thrown into the bathtub, Clint couldn’t contain the whistle.

“No. You do not get to whistle at me when I smell like pee because _your_  son couldn’t aim into the damn bowl with a bladder that was apparently overflowing,” Phil said sitting back on his heels to look up at Clint.

“Ut-oh, squirt, you’re really in trouble, you’re just my son tonight,” Clint said, kissing Alex’s forehead through the mess of bangs they still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to get trimmed.

“Really, Clinton, squirt, the best nickname you could come up with for our son at the moment that I am kneeling on the bathroom floor cleaning up his pee is squirt,” Phil said while rolling his eyes so hard, Clint was a little worried they might actually roll out of his head.

“Whoops,” Clint said, squatting down to kiss Phil’s cheek. “You knew these kinds of things would happen with potty training, though.”

Phil sighed. “I know, but how does a child, with your DNA, miss the fu- damn bowl? I mean come on.”

“Maybe he didn’t get my amazing aim. Maybe we’ll give papa the night off from potty training you, Alex. Let your daddy take a try?”

Alex pouted for a second before nodding. “’Kay, daddy.”

Phil shook his head before going back to scrubbing the floor with the Clorox while Clint escaped to the living room and hunted down a pull-up and pants for Alex.

After dinner that night, Phil was hiding in the master bedroom when Clint came in swinging Alex around. “Guess who used the big boy potty all by himself, and even pulled his step out without asking?”

Phil stared at him with the best ‘If I didn’t respect your life, I would kill you’ look (it was the look that made baby agents wet themselves). “You’re fu- fracking kidding me.”

Clint shook his head. “Nope.”

“I hate you and _your_ son so much right now,” Phil said with a growl before turning over and punching the pillow.


	7. Physical Therapy (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: Canon Amputation Recovery

It was a well-known fact that Clint was the worst patient to ever exist. 

It was less of a well-known fact that Phil was worse.

“If you want kisses you have to do your PT.” Clint bribed almost every morning since Phil lost his hand.

And every morning since, Phil grumbled and threw a pillow at Clint with his uninjured arm.

“Come on, Phil. You’ve done the hard part, you healed from the surgery to get the anchor set in, but it’s all useless unless you get up and do the therapy and retrain your brain!” Clint argued back before he lifted Phil out of the bed and flung his husband over his shoulder.

Phil half-heartedly beat on Clint’s back but gave up when they were in the elevator, going down two floors in the tower to see the physical therapist. When the doors opened again, Phil was standing on his own beside Clint, a scowl on his face that rivaled Fury’s worst. 

“This is bull shit,” Phil growled at Clint as they left the elevator to find Johanna and go through the hour of Phil being the worst patient ever known to mankind.

“Yea, well it’s going to keep being bull shit till Johanna tells you, you can go back to work with the prosthetic. And when you get the clearance, then you can bitch some more about how this was a waste of time,” Clint said, honestly getting a little over this conversation.

“I don’t feel like I’m going anything.” Phil finally said while they waited for Johanna to finish up with Tony.

“I know, but you are. You managed to write your name yesterday with the robot hand, that’s big.” Clint tried to reassure Phil that progress was being made but it was kind of like trying to break through a brick wall with your head.

“I just want to be able to touch you again with two hands,” Phil whispered. “This changed so much about our sex life.”

“We’ll make it through this, Phil. But for christ sakes, be a better patient. You’re making me look like an angel.”


	8. Three Day Rule (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Trigger Warnings

Rooming with Phil was a punishment. Well, that’s what Hill told him when they gave him the key and told him that until they decided he could act like a grown man, he would be living with his handler.

Clint saw it more like, living with a responsible person for the first time in his life, and he didn’t really mind that. In fact, he took advantage of it in some ways. But then, Phil didn’t really blame him, even if it meant he had never seen Clint do a dish.

This also meant that sometimes, Phil got to see parts of Clint thatClint would much rather no one ever see.

Cut to Clint sitting on the couch, crying into a pint of ice cream while he watched a romcom. 

“Have another fight with… Sorry refresh my memory, because I really just want to call him ass face right now,” Phil said, sitting down beside Clint with his own pint of ice cream.

“He’s not an ass face,” Clint mumbled before aggressively shoving the spoon loaded with ice cream into his mouth.

“What am I supposed to call the man that every couple of weeks causes you to cry on the couch?” Phil asked as he got comfortable on the couch, wiggling into his corner so that they could both stretch out and just have to share the middle of the couch.

“It’s just me,” Clint said with a shrug. “I take a casual thing and try to make it into something else.”

“Clint, I care about you, which is why I’m going to tell you this. The problem is not you. You always reach out to him after a day or two, after this has happened. Give him three days,” Phil said, nudging Clint’s feet with this own where they were curled up under Clint’s body.

“What happens in three days?” Clint asked and then tapped his spoon against his lips. 

“If he doesn’t call you, walk away, Clint. Stop hurting yourself.”

“What if I can’t wait three days?”

“Clint, do you really want to be with someone who is perfectly fine with not talking to you for three days?”

“No, I guess not.”

**4 Days Later**

“He didn’t call,” Clint said over breakfast. “But I realized something.”

“Oh?” Phil asked, sitting down at the kitchen table with his coffee and yogurt. 

“Yep,” Clint said, popping the ‘p’.

“I’m assuming we are going to share,” Phil said, looking at Clint over his coffee mug.

Clint shrugged before he smirked. “I realized, I didn’t ever realize how awful I felt with ass face because I already had someone who couldn’t go twelve hours without talking to me, let alone three days.”

“Oh?” Phil asked curiously, who was this person was that made Clint feel so much better even when in a shit relationship.

“Yep,” Clint said with a smile.

“Do I know this person?”

“Well, I would hope so, considering it’s you.”

“Oh,” Phil breathed out the word like he was seeing god for the first time, his eyes wide.


	9. Spiders In The Kitchen (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: None

There are certain things that come with being married to Clinton Barton.

Socks that are inside out when put into the laundry bin.

A trail of clothing from the front door to where ever Clint decides to plant his body for the foreseeable future.

A farm house turned animal sanctuary in the middle of nowhere Iowa, where Phil is often taking deep cleansing breaths because the wifi has ceased working.

All of these things, Phil knew before he proposed. His friends would even say he had welcomed these things.

But there’s one thing that Clint managed to not tell him before they got married.

That thing being that he would go to bed at night with Clint staying up to watch something with one of the various animals, and in the morning he would wake up to a spider being in his kitchen, with no warning.

Four years into their marriage, Phil stopped discussing their spider problem. If he woke up to a woman singing in the kitchen and the smell of pancakes drifting through the farm house, he would do his best to not react as poorly as he had the first time the spider problem showed up.

This morning, he was half asleep and already reading a tablet as he walks into the kitchen. With a quick glance, he takes in that at least Natasha is wearing a shirt this morning, takes the cup of coffee she is holding out for him, and then retreats back upstairs with the tablet to drink his coffee and play with Clint’s hair until his husband wakes up.

The cup is empty when Clint rolls over and blinks up at Phil.

“I told her to make sure she put on at least a shirt and underwear this time,” Clint says, his voice is rough with sleep, like a gravel road.

“Think next time you can tell her to aim for pants too?” Phil asks and moves the tablet to the night stand.

“I can ask.”

“Do I want to know why she’s here this morning?”

No sooner than the question left his mouth, the mindless singing in the kitchen switches into singing with a lot of aggression and what sounds like malice towards one person.

“You know what, I don’t want to know. It’s either Melinda’s problem or Pepper’s. I am washing my hands of this,” Phil says with a shake of his head.

“Probably for the best.” After a second, Clint stretches up to kiss Phil’s cheek. “Thank you for understanding our little spider problem. She really just needs a safe place to build her web.”

Phil waves his hand. “If she didn’t come here, I don’t want to think about where’d she go. At least this way when Melinda screams at me on the phone I can tell her, her little spider is safe in her web.”


	10. Seasons (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Trigger Warnings
> 
> Content Notice however is that there is no dialogue in this chapter, I understand that is a deal breaker for some.

Before Clinton Francis Barton entered Phil’s life, he would have said that winter was his favorite season. 

He loved the way that the snow drifted peacefully to the ground, and the white blanket it covered everything in. He loved the way that everything seemed much quieter and much closer in the winter; it was a paradox but the stillness of the crisp air carried sounds so much clearer, but there was a hush that even they could not truly penetrate. 

He loved the cold that seemed to slither through cracks long since patched up, to invade the space and make those in the space want to curl up under the best blankets they had, with the fuzziest of socks. He loved how no one glanced his way for drinking hot coffee in the middle of the day; in winter it was just something you did. 

Stereotypically, Phil also loved Christmas. He loved to decorate in early November so that when the snow falls for the first time and the lights are on they create magical vistas of illuminated snow on the houses. He loved to watch people in the mall, the joy that would blossom over someone’s face when they found the perfect gift chipped away at the hatred for humanity and the things it did to one another that built up during the rest of the year.

Before Clinton Francis Barton entered Phil’s life, he would have said that winter was his favorite season. 

* * *

Before Phillip James Coulson entered Clint’s life, he would have said that summer was his favorite season.

Clint loved the pop-up thunderstorms that only seemed to happen in the middle of summer. He loved the way the world would be still and quiet, basking in the heat of the sun when out of nowhere the deepest rumble would echo across the sky. He loved the way the heavy rain drops of these storms and particular would dance across the roof and windows of whichever car or house he was in. And most of all, he loved the unpredictability of their end; would it be a storm that quenched the earth’s thirst and lowered the temperature by tens of degrees or would it be a earth’s feisty coffee of a storm that served only to heat her back up to a boiling point so high that you could bathe in the air with the humidity.

Clint loved the heat and the ability to wear as few clothes as he wanted to on any given day. He loved being able to jump in the pool in nothing but a pair of swim trunks and feel like he was being reborn as the water dripped off of him when he climbed out. Most of all, Clint loved the heat because it gave everyone a deep seeded need to stay as far from anyone else as humanly possible; no one enjoyed being touched or cuddled in the heat.

Stereotypically Clint loved the Fourth of July. He loved to watch the children at fireworks events for the first time, and they way their eyes would swell to the size of saucers in amazement. He loved the way he could get lost in a crowd while everyone’s eyes were focused on the exploding lights in the sky; he could pass by people who had long since forgotten him, but that he hadn’t forgotten and look on with a smile at the small children they now brought to see the pretty lights.

Before Phillip James Coulson entered Clint’s life, he would have said that summer was his favorite season.

* * *

After Phillip James Coulson and Clinton Francis Barton became one inseparable unit, they would both agree that their favorite time of year was fall.

Together they loved the unpredictable fluctuations of fall. They loved the warm days that would pop up and would leave Clint wistful for the pool, but they loved the first sign of snow just as much. They loved the way that the fall was just the perfect temperature for light cuddling and touching, but still warm enough that people didn’t huddle into each other without consent. 

Most of all, they loved the fall for Halloween. It was not an instant love affair with the holiday, as it was harder for them to find the joy that made them love their respective holidays. In fact, they were three years into their marriage when they finally fell in love with Halloween the way they had Christmas and the Fourth. It was not until the two of them walked down the sidewalk, both of them with a toddler hand in their own, that they saw the magic of Halloween.

After Phillip James Coulson and Clinton Francis Barton became one inseparable unit, they would both agree that their favorite time of year was fall.


End file.
